


Our Symphony

by DelightfulSepsis



Category: Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Dark!Bruce, Gun Kink, M/M, Short One Shot, mobster!bruce, my devious boys being devious, no point just me being self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 07:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13476747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelightfulSepsis/pseuds/DelightfulSepsis
Summary: “In individuals, insanity is rare; but in groups, parties, nations and epochs, it is the rule.”― Friedrich NietzscheA short oneshot set in a darker universe where Bruce followed in his fathers footsteps and finds Oz's return to Gotham a delightful opportunity to nurture both their demons. The boys argue over red wine vs the taste of a gun and tempt fate.(Terrible summary but this is far from a work of art. I am just trying to break through my 8 month writers block).





	Our Symphony

Authors Note: I apologise for any errors in this piece of work and for the fact it is really rather lacking, rushed and generally pointless. I have been suffering from writers block for 8 months due to ill health and this was what I managed to force out at 2am with a headache and eyes that wouldn't focus. I wasn't going to post it, but then I read about how, if you have writers block, you have to just try and write through it and then hold yourself accountable for what is created and not judge yourself too harshly. Whilst I can't resist judging myself, I do want to post it so I can come back to it later on and see if I have improved. It's a oneshot, but maybe I will add to it some day or write a follow-up. 'imma shut up now. (This idea came from a conversation I had with my friend - who is writing a far superior story about it ( [HysteriaLevi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HysteriaLevi/pseuds/HysteriaLevi) ), go check them out ). 

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The man across from him was mad. Long sinewy limbs, pale skin etched with old scars from a life before and after his influence – those dark eyes with only a slither of light; oh how Bruce did so covet them. Bringing the glass of wine to his lips, the corrupt billionaire savoured the rich aroma before taking a small sip, his tongue snaking out to lap away any remnants.

“Château Latour,” Bruce sighed out once he’d lowered the glass, his features all angles in the near-dark study with only the orange of the lit fireplace casting illumination. “I’ve been keeping this on hold for years, waiting for a moment that felt worthy of its vintage.” Directing his glass to the lone bottle placed neatly between the two seated men, Bruce chuckled as he watched Oz’s face twist into a mask of mocking indifference; the glass was raised once more for a second taste.

“Well colour me flattered, Brucie.” Oz didn’t disguise his lack of interest and instead reached forwards and grabbed the bottle – his wrist skirting the gun that also divided them, drawing it to his own lips and taking a large gulp. Wine spilt out the sides of his mouth and dribbled a river down his chin – ever a careless creature of whim, Bruce thought. _He wouldn’t change it for the world_.

Once his friend had stopped guzzling the expensive wine, Bruce proffered his query. “Opinion?” He rested his glass occupied hand on the mahogany table and arched his back so as to rest his cheek upon the other, amused by his current visitor’s lack of decorum – lack of falsehood.

Oswald laughed dryly and held the bottle to his chest, mirroring his old friend’s movements and glaring him down with equal intrigue. “Tastes like wine, mate,” he answered tactlessly. There seemed no need to hide the snarky lilt decorating his words, the infamous Penguins bravado one ill-kept behind fancies when in such dangerous and intimate company. “But then, you know me, man of the people and all that.” He flicked a dramatic arm into the air though Bruce’s eyes did not follow it. “Plus,” his words were paused by another large swig that added to the river and sent blood like droplets pattering onto his white shirt, “they don’t serve shit like this in prison, not that you’d know, huh?” The daring in his tone drew another chuckle from Bruce – the mutual antagonization between the two reaching the edges of the room where it began to thicken the air.

Bruce let out a light sigh and placed his wine glass down, inching it far enough away so that he could lean over the table and place his hands down either side of Oz. “No,” he whispered, tilting his head to the side as he scanned his old friends face. “I suppose they don’t, though, there’s no accounting for taste either.” The air thickened further, though Oz did not seem ready to choke on it.

With little contemplation, Bruce reached out and clasped a hold of Oz’s face, his thumb pressing roughly into the others chin whilst his fingers spidered their way around his right cheek; the spilled wine bleed into his skin, a deep ruby now coating his hand. “I’m glad you’re home, Oz,” Bruce breathed out and though Bruce’s speech was ever guarded and cold, an undercurrent of warmth still marked it – where this warmth game from, Oz wouldn’t dare try and dig for.

“Glad to be home, Brucie.” Oswald relaxed into the grip and smirked, the fire patterning his face in orange and shadow; and as the mobster’s grip tightened, his smirk too grew wider. “Gotta say though, you’ve changed a bit – can’t wait to find out what I missed.” A calloused hand snaked up to wrap around Bruce’s wrist, not prying it away but making its presence known.

Leaning further forwards - the table creaking in objection under his weight, the billionaire positioned himself slightly above Oz, forcing him to angle his wrist up and raise the man’s face to meet his own – Oswald’s own grip lessened in response until it no longer felt present (submission; Bruce doubted it; hoped not). “Well, I don’t mean to sound grandiose, but I do have a few little stories…if you’ve got the stomach for them?” The danger tracing his words cut a wicked expression across his companion’s features, the light in his eyes burning far brighter than before, and with a tender dragging of his fingers, Bruce released Oz’s face and returned back into his seat. Their eyes locked as he then calmly brought the wine-stained fingers to his mouth and licked the sticky fluid away.

A short moment past between them and whatever was in each-others stare seemed to toe the line between hunger and warfare – where it leaned, neither of them could know for certain. Oswald’s eyes broke contact first as he observed Bruce reaching for the gun leisurely, and cast in the same glow by the fire, he must have appeared quite angelic - or like a cobra flexing its hood. Opening the barrel and giving it a quick spin before clicking it back into place, Bruce aimed the gun at Oswald as a lover might offer a bouquet of roses. The already stifling room became suffocating around the two, Bruce’s face alight with some unreachable passion and Oswald’s own stitched by amusement.

“No accounting for taste, huh?” Oz repeated. Shoulders rolling in a predatory fashion, the raven-haired man inched himself closer to the gun and parted his mouth, allowing his tongue to slightly drip over his lips – tempting him.

Bruce offered a dark hum at this – slimy and like treacle, before inclining his body in also to lay the cold weapon against the others open mouth, purring as Oz took it without protest, seemingly relishing in the sensation as a sommelier might favour the wine still hugged to his body. “No,” the statement was marked by a click as he readied the gun and Bruce’s eyebrows knitted in concentration. “Not at all.” Neither flinched as Bruce pulled the trigger, the clack of an empty barrel echoing around the room – the beginnings of a symphony, and drawing the weapon back, he twisted it to face himself. “Remarkable,” he said, staring at the gun curiously. His pale blue eyes quickly flicked up to capture Oz’s own before returning to stare back down the dark eye of the revolver.

“Your turn, huh?” His companions voice drew his gaze once more, the animalistic glee upon Oz’s handsome face sharp and beautiful – _I will devour you_ , Bruce thought before stretching out his arms and exhaling. Bringing the gun to his temple, he grinned as he felt his heart start to thump heavily in his chest. The fear, the delight – his old friend was quite mad, Bruce wished it would never end. “My turn,” he parroted softly, watching – waiting, for Oz’s response, starved for the other man’s indulgence.

Oz tsked at this and slammed the forgotten bottle of wine on the table, running his tongue across his teeth and giving a far too toothy smile. “Oh Brucie,” he lulled sweetly, fingers pattering against the neck of the bottle, “whatever will I do with you?”

A pale finger tensed around the trigger, ready to pull but halted by such a question. “ _You_ , oh no, not you, Oz.” The room stilled, their mutual understanding, their bond, tightening like a hangman’s noose ready to throttle. “It’s _we_ \- we are going to do such great things.” Bruce’s finger snapped down on the trigger; the symphony continuing once more.

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 **End Note: ** I hope this gratuitous bit of self indulgence wasn't too difficult to swallow and was to some peoples fancy (I know not everyone likes this kind of thing). I cried 'fuck it' as I posted this. Erh... Oh, also, don't play with guns, kids...it's stupid. Though, I wonder if the gun was ever loaded in the first place. Hm?


End file.
